I’ll be honest with you: I don’t even entirely know what the point of Rihanna’s FENTY x PUMA collection is supposed to be. The few photos I’ve seen make it look like an addlepated hybrid of Yeezy and Victoria’s Secret Pink and, like, Giambattista Valli — but all with different degrees of each. Rihanna’s own outfit is the most dramatic.
She looks INSANE but my God I want an invitation to that slumber party. Everyone would get personalized fans with their names on it, and a signature Champagne cocktail, and she would project classic movies like When Harry Met Sally and the Anne of Green Gables miniseries on the naked and perfect chests of male models standing on risers of varying heights. Every dip served would be delectable and calorie-free. We’d each have our own facialist. Drake would show up at one point and write a short poem about each one of us, and then he’d rap it and it wouldn’t be very good actually but we’d clap politely and high-five him and he’d cry a little from pure joy. We’d wake up the next morning to the sound of Angela Lansbury singing “Beauty and the Beast,” and leave with moisturizer made from weed because Rihanna decided a “pot moisturizer pot” was a funny palindrome and some of her stash had gone bad anyway so it was no skin off her nose. Jay-Z would call to make sure we all got our free memberships to Tidal, which we’d politely throw away later or pawn off on a distant cousin. An epic event, to be sure.